


Three Half-Used Candles, Six Matches, Pemmican, and Peanut Butter PowerBars

by helens78



Category: due South
Genre: Canadian Shack, Community: pacifi_cant, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-11
Updated: 2010-04-11
Packaged: 2017-10-08 21:27:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helens78/pseuds/helens78
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fraser and Ray find themselves in a cabin with limited supplies and a need for shared body warmth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Three Half-Used Candles, Six Matches, Pemmican, and Peanut Butter PowerBars

**Author's Note:**

  * For [malnpudl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/malnpudl/gifts).



> This is me hoping there can never be too many Canadian shack first-time stories. I wrote this for [Pacifi_cant](http://pacifi_cant.dreamwidth.org), for malnpudl's prompt of "Peanut Butter and Pemmican, Please."

At first, they've got too much to do to really notice the state of the shelter--put the dogs in the shed, bring the sled in, get their packs into the cabin, get themselves stripped down (_fuck_, it's cold, out of the wind or no), get into dry longjohns, get dressed again.

That's when Fraser starts looking through the few cabinets and drawers--the short back wall's got a few, as well as a basin, though this place has neither electricity nor plumbing. It's a quick search; Fraser opens a drawer, makes a soft "hm" noise, closes it again. Opens a cabinet, makes that same noise, closes it. Repeat a half-dozen times, until the meaning of those "hm" noises starts to penetrate through Ray's exhaustion-fogged brain.

"Cleaned out?"

"Yes, I'm afraid there's nothing here except three half-used candles and..." Fraser pulls a matchbox out of the last drawer and opens it. "Six matches." He glances up at the tiny window above the basin; it doesn't let in very much light, though at least it's leeward (and Ray is pretty proud of himself for knowing what that means and how to identify the lee side of a cabin, thank you kindly). "At least we're out of the storm."

"There's that," Ray says. He glances around a second time, looking for any signs that they missed something. A big pile of firewood with a handheld starter. A chest full of dried fruit and meat, maybe. But no; all that's in here is them, their packs, and a double bed, which does not even have the decency to have a good set of blankets on it. Ray groans.

"I doubt the storm will last more than two or three days," Fraser says. "We've got enough supplies left for that. I have enough pemmican to last another two weeks, easily."

"Yeah, well, speak for yourself, buddy--I'm down to the last of my PowerBars. Nothing left but the peanut butter ones."

"You're welcome to share the pemmican--" At Ray's look, Fraser sighs and rubs at his eyebrow. "Why did you even bother to bring energy bars you don't care for?"

"I figured variety might be more important than the fact I'm not crazy about peanut butter PowerBars, down the road." He was wrong, though, which is why all that's left in his pack is a couple dozen peanut butter PowerBars and a little trail mix. "You want to get the bed set up?"

There's no question about someone sleeping on the floor. With no fire to heat the cabin, they'll need all the warmth they can get, and Fraser does okay on his own, yeah, but with Ray tucked in a sleeping bag with him, he actually seems comfortable. As for Ray, he'll take Fraser's furnacelike warmth over his own dignity any day of the week, and since Fraser hasn't so much as mentioned Ray's more-or-less constant boners over this trip through the Arctic, even Ray's dignity is basically intact. It's not like they go skin-to-skin; they tend to be layered up in longjohns at the very least.

In here, though, they'll at least have the luxury of a nice soft mattress underneath them. Once their sleeping bags are zipped together and they've tucked in for the night, Ray actually lets out a soft, satisfied breath and closes his eyes. "Four stars," he mumbles.

"Only three," Fraser says. "They lose one for the lack of standard amenities."

"No toilet _is_ gonna suck in the morning."

"I'd settle for a cord of firewood. I plan on writing a stern letter when I return home."

Ray laughs. "You let me know when you do. I'll sign it."

* * *

Waking up tangled in Fraser's limbs is nothing new. A sleeping bag, even doubled, is only so big, and the warm spot happens to be the other guy in the bag, and so both of them tend to gravitate toward one another. This is fine; this is perfectly normal. Fraser gave that lecture about three times before Ray threatened to pop him one if he didn't stop.

"Jesus, Fraser, I ain't terrified of other guys' dicks, all right? Stop trying to talk me through this and lie the hell down. It's not too cold for me to hit you."

"Understood, Ray."

But this--morning? evening? Ray has no idea what time it is--Ray wakes up wrapped around Fraser, thigh resting over both of Fraser's legs, and...

Coming up from dreamland, it takes a few minutes to figure out the relevant facts. One: Fraser is hard as fucking _steel_. Two: Fraser is _not asleep_.

Ray groans out loud; his hips pitch forward completely on their own, his cock pressing heavily into Fraser's hip. Fraser goes stiff all over--and Ray means _all_ over; he can feel Fraser's cock digging into his inner thigh. Ray makes a fist in the front of Fraser's longjohns and holds him still.

"Hey," Ray mumbles.

"I--hello," Fraser murmurs back. "I'd like to turn over; if you'd just--"

_I'd like to turn over._ Fraser's said that before; he's said that any number of times. Ray usually backs off, half-asleep and drooling, and Fraser rolls over with his back toward Ray, and they both fall back asleep in a hurry.

Ray clings a little harder, wondering how often _I'd like to turn over_ has meant _I have a hard-on that's killing me; kindly unwrap yourself from me so I can think about curling and try to go back to sleep._ "Fraser--"

"Ray," Fraser breathes, and then Ray tips his face _up_ and Fraser tips his _down_ and Ray can feel warm breath against his cheek--and screw this, screw ignoring this, Ray's got to go for it.

He misses Fraser's lips at first. Gets a mouthful of stubble, which is something Ray hasn't felt in a long time. He adjusts pretty quick, though, lips moving over to find Fraser's, and Fraser's breathing fast and hot, and when Ray finally gets them mouth-to-mouth, Fraser kind of _surges_, like he wants to get his whole body into Ray's mouth, all at once. Ray groans against Fraser's lips: it sounds pretty fucking good to him, too.

He slides a hand down Fraser's body, and this time it's a lot easier finding his mark. He unbuttons a few strategic buttons and gets his hand into Fraser's longjohns, and Fraser breaks the kiss as Ray starts stroking him, like he can't walk and chew gum at the same time, or can't get jerked off and kissed all at once. His breath stutters against Ray's cheek, and he shoves his hips up, desperately humping against Ray's hand, and _God_, it is the hottest thing Ray can remember feeling in--he can't even guess how long.

"Yeah," Ray murmurs, and then, suddenly, "hey, _no_," because--gah, if Fraser comes in the sleeping bag, it could have a cold spot for a _week_. Ray knows this from unfortunate experience; wet dreams are no goddamn fun in the Arctic.

But Fraser is clearly not following Ray's thought processes here, because he grabs for Ray's hand, and even without the tight circle of Ray's fist, he's pushing up, trying to get contact, like he'll just hump any available part of Ray he can at this point. "Ray, please, _please_, for God's sake, don't stop _now_\--"

"Hang on," Ray says, and then he pulls away from Fraser and disappears into the sleeping bag. He figures he's got a couple minutes' air before this starts getting too stuffy to breathe, and the way Fraser's grunting and writhing, he's got time for this. If Fraser lasts another two minutes, Ray will _eat_ the GTO when he gets back to Chicago.

He's blind, though, down here, blind and searching everything out by feel, and finally he gets his hand on Fraser's cock again, and Fraser's hips jerk like he's afraid Ray's going to stop all over again. But this time Ray's not going anywhere, and he licks his lips, gets them good and wet, and then dives for it--puts his mouth on Fraser's hot, leaking dick and _sucks_, and Fraser's hands clutch for Ray's head and he makes this wild, keening noise that is for goddamn _sure_ gonna wake the dogs, and he bucks under Ray's hands and his mouth and just _comes_, comes like a fucking firehose, comes until Ray chokes and wonders if they're going to end up with wet spots on the sleeping bags regardless of all good intentions.

Fraser lets him go fast, though, panting so loud Ray can hear it even under the sleeping bag, and Ray does his best to swallow and give Fraser a few licks for cleanup before making his way back to the surface.

He can't really see Fraser when he's out from under the sleeping bag, so he reaches out and strokes his fingers over Fraser's cheek. Fraser's flat on his back, still trying to catch his breath, and it's only _now_ Ray thinks about his own hard-on. Fuck. Jerking off presents the same problem it did before, and...

"If you'll--" Fraser licks his lips; Ray can feel the tip of Fraser's tongue skate past his fingertip. "Just a moment," he says, and Ray blinks a few times, making fervent pleas to all the little gods that Fraser's actually offering what it _sounds_ like he's offering.

And a few seconds later, all Ray's prayers are answered; Fraser scoots down into the sleeping bag and shoves Ray's legs apart, gets his dick out of his longjohns and barely bothers with his hand, just swallows Ray down like he's starved for it. Ray pushes up on his elbows, makes a little air tunnel for Fraser under there, but then Fraser does _something_ with his tongue that puts Ray flat on his back, gasping, outright _begging_. "Please, _please_, yeah, oh _hell_, yeah, right _there_, dammit, Frase--aw, _fuck_, close, _closecloseclose_\--"

Fraser just sucks harder, and Ray hopes to hell that's permission, because he couldn't keep himself from coming now if he wanted to. Fraser's tongue presses up _hard_ against the underside of Ray's cock, tip still working that sweet spot just under the head, and Ray yells loud enough to wake the dogs _again_, before pulsing hot and quick into Fraser's mouth and collapsing on his back, all but sure Fraser's just sucked his brains out.

When Fraser comes back up, his fingertips trace Ray's face, too. Ray turns into that touch and tries to leave a kiss against Fraser's fingers, and Fraser sighs softly and wraps himself around Ray this time, curling in closer than Ray's ever felt him before.

"God," Ray murmurs. "Tell me we're gonna do that some more."

"We're going to do that some more," Fraser says, and he sounds half-asleep and very, very happy. Ray grins. He's out like a light in ten seconds flat.

* * *

They're stuck in the cabin for two days, all told, and they leave the bed only to check the dogs and have what passes for meals. Peanut butter and pemmican were never Ray's favorite foods before this, but he's got a feeling that from here on out, the combination's gonna give him a hard-on.

Doesn't stop him from eating his weight in smoked salmon, once they get somewhere with options, but he always remembers to tuck a couple peanut butter PowerBars into his pack when they go on a trip now, and when Fraser catches him doing it, he grins.

_-end-_


End file.
